The site upon which the house had been constructed had once seen the lights of a great family manse On top of the highest of many rolling hills surrounding the city of Ontoset, it was considered the choicest view of the city and the sea beyond. The family had come to low estate, the result of being on the losing side in one of the Empire’s many subtle but lethal political struggles. The house had fallen into disrepair and the property been ignored, for while it was as fine a building site as any found in the area, the association of ill fortune with the property was too real for the superstitious Tsurani.
One day news reached the city that some kula herders had awakened to the sight of a single black-robed figure walking up the hill toward the old house. They all acted with haste to avoid him, in the socially correct fashion for their station. They stayed within the area, tending their animals—the source of their meager income: kula wool—when, near midday, they heard a great noise, as if the heavens above them had erupted with the grandfather of all thunder peals. The herd scattered in terror, some running up the hill. The herders were no less terrified, but true to their trade, they put aside their fears and chased after the animals.
One herder, a man named Xanothis, came to the top of the once-famous hill to be greeted by the sight of the black-robed magician he had seen earlier, standing upon the crest. Where the run-down great house had stood moments before, a large patch of smoking land was laid bare, several feet below the level of the grass that surrounded it. Fearing he had intruded upon some business of a Great One, Xanothis started to back away, hoping to avoid detection, for the Great One’s back was to the herder and his cowl was drawn over his head. As he took the first step backward, the magician turned to face him, fixing him with a pair of unsettlingly deep brown deep eyes.
The herder lowered himself as custom demanded, on his knees, eyes cast downward. He did not fully abase himself, for he was a freeman, and while not a noble, he was head of his family.
“Stand up,” the magician ordered.
Slightly confused, Xanothis rose, eyes still cast downward.
“Look at me.”
He looked up and found the face in the cowl regarding him closely. A beard as dark as the eyes framed a fair face, a fact that added to Xanothis’s discomfort, as only slaves wore beards. The magician smiled at this obvious confusion and walked around the herder, inspecting him.
The magician saw a man tall for a Tsurani, an inch or two taller than his own five feet eight. His skin was dark, like unclouded chocha or coffee. His eyes were black, and his hair was black as well, save where it was shot with white. The herder’s short green robe revealed the powerful build of a former soldier, a fact the magician gleaned from the man’s erect posture and several scars. Past fifty he looked, but still capable of the strenuous life of a herder. Though shorter, this man resembled Gardan of Crydee slightly.
“Your name?” asked the magician, as he came round to stand before the herder. Xanothis answered, his voice betraying his unease. The magician then startled him by asking, “Would you agree that this is a good place for a home, herdsman?”
Confused, Xanothis stammered, “If . . . if it . . . is your will, Great One.”
The magician snapped, “Ask not what I think! I ask your thoughts!”
Xanothis could barely hide his anger at his own shame. Great Ones were sacrosanct, and to be false with one was to do a dishonor. “Forgive me, Great One. It is said this spot is ill favored by the gods.”
“And who is it that says so?”
The sharpness in the magician’s voice caused the older man’s head to snap up as if he had been struck. His eyes hid little of his anger, but his voice remained calm as he said, “Those who live in the city, Great One, and others about the countryside.” The herdsman met the magician’s gaze and held it.
The corners of the magician’s eyes wrinkled in mirth, and his mouth turned up a little, but his voice still rang out. “But not you, herder?”
“I was fifteen years a soldier, Great One. I have found it often the case that the gods favor those who take care of their own welfare.”
The magician smiled at this, though it was not an entirely warm expression. “A man of self-reliance. Good. I am glad we are of a like mind, for I plan to build my estate here, as I have a taste for the view of the sea.”
A certain stiffness of posture in the herder’s stance at this remark caught the magician’s notice, and he said, “Have I your approval, Xanothis of Ontoset?”
Xanothis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then said, “The Great One jests with me. My approval or disapproval is of no consequence, I am certain.”
“True, but you still avoid my question Have I your approval?”
Xanothis’s shoulders sagged a little as he said, “I will have to move my herds, Great One That is all. I mean no disrespect.”
“Tell me of this house, Xanothis, that stood here before this day.”